Cheap horror on Amazon Kindle!

Hi, folks! For the next four days (through Wednesday, Sept. 2nd) my short story collection, Hay Moon & Other Stories: Sixteen Modern Tales of Horror and Suspense will be just $0.99 on Amazon Kindle. 

This collection is rated 4.3 out of 5 stars on Amazon, and 4.5 out of 5 on Goodreads.

The stories are diverse. In these tales you’ll meet zombies, vampires, forest creatures, terrorists, mobsters, and killer sharks. There are even two time travel stories. 

Of course I’m biased. (I wrote these stories, after all.) But I think you’ll like this collection, and lots of other readers agree!

Check it out on Amazon!

And, if you don’t want to spend $0.99 (or if this post finds you after September 2, 2020) you can always read this collection for FREE if you have a Kindle Unlimited membership

Ayn Rand and me

I had a brief flirtation with Ayn Rand the year I turned twenty. The most torrid part of the relationship lasted only about as long as some of Dagny Taggart’s warm-up love affairs in Atlas Shrugged. Officially, I broke off the romance; but it remains a memorable phase in my formative years.

Twenty is probably the perfect age to have a fling with Ayn Rand. In the enclosed terrarium of your teenage years, it is easy to hold any hifalutin concept of yourself that you can imagine. When you are twenty, though, things begin to change. The adult world looms large in the windshield. You realize that you aren’t quite as special, quite as brilliant, or quite as destined for spectacular success as you fancied yourself to be, only a few short years ago.

Ayn Rand, with hyper-individualist titles like Anthem and The Virtue of Selfishness, is the perfect salve for the twenty-year-old who suddenly fears that he might turn out to be quite ordinary, after all. The twenty-year-old’s brief burst of Ayn Randian egoism is a final cry of rebellion for the self-important teenager that is slipping away.

I first heard of Ayn Rand around 1983, when I was in high school. My favorite rock band was Rush. Neil Peart, Rush’s drummer and main lyricist, wrote at least two songs based on Rand’s novels and philosophical tracts. Continue reading “Ayn Rand and me”

Ouija: Origin of Evil

I’ve written multiple horror novels, and I have an interest in things that go bump in the night.

Nevertheless, most horror movies don’t scare me. 

This is because at the end of the day, a horror movie is the product of someone’s imagination. As a writer myself, I can’t completely set that aside. I can only suspend my disbelief so far. I might find a horror movie interesting, or suspenseful. But rare is the horror film that makes me look over the edge of my bed at night, wondering if something might be there.

But I found Ouija: Origin of Evil to be genuinely creepy. Continue reading “Ouija: Origin of Evil”

Cincinnati in TV and the movies

My hometown of Cincinnati isn’t exactly Paris or New York. It is therefore somewhat understandable, I suppose, that our local news media is making a big deal of the episode of The Brady Bunch that was filmed here nearly a half-century ago:

47 years ago, The Brady Bunch visited Kings Island

While I was growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, going to Kings Island—Cincinnati’s only real amusement park—was a “big deal”. Much of the scenery in the above clip from The Brady Bunch therefore looks familiar. 

Kings Island is still there, by the way. But it’s changed a lot since 1973.

***

A few feature-length films were shot in Cincinnati in the 1980s. Rain Man, starring Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise, comes immediately to mind. This movie was filmed in various locations in and around Cincinnati.

I’ve had lunch in the Italian restaurant Pompilio’s, in Northern Kentucky, where Rain Man‘s iconic “toothpick scene” takes place. Continue reading “Cincinnati in TV and the movies”

‘Blazing Saddles’ is a politically incorrect classic

Watch the Mel Brooks satirical Western comedy, Blazing Saddles, if you haven’t seen it before.

There is one memorable scene in Blazing Saddles in which the African American Sheriff Bart  (played by Cleavon Little) distracts a pair of Klansmen, so that his sidekick, Jim (played by Gene Wilder) can carry out a necessary mission of reconnaissance.

Jim pretends to catch Bart for the Klansmen. He grabs Bart by the collar and calls out to the Klansman, “Hey boys, look what I’ve got!”

Bart then says, in a Southern black dialect, “Hey, where the white women at?” Continue reading “‘Blazing Saddles’ is a politically incorrect classic”

What kind of horror do I write?

This is a question I received the other day on Twitter.  It isn’t a frivolous question, I suppose. About a third of my titles are classified as horror, after all.

Perhaps I should begin by clarifying what kind of horror I don’t write.

I don’t do excessive gore/violence.

I have never been interested in horror fiction that fetishizes violence and cruelty for the mere sake of wallowing in such things. (If that’s your goal, then why not just watch one of those ISIS beheading videos?)

This means that graphic depictions of torture (for example) don’t appear in my books. Cannibalism is pretty much out, too. (Gross.)

I’m old enough to remember the capture of Jeffrey Dahmer in 1991. Suffice it to say that I am not interested in exploring the most extreme possibilities of human depravity in fiction. Again, what’s the point?

Are you into “splatterpunk”? You probably won’t like my books. Do us both a favor, and read something else.

I don’t like horror tales with unlikable characters.

Likewise, I don’t care for horror stories that simply involve horrible things happening to horrible people.

You’ve certainly seen horror movies that involve the following scenario (or something like it): A group of obnoxious, unlikable people enter a house, and they’re killed off one by one.

But the thing is…you don’t care! The protagonists were all awful people, anyway. (Maybe you were even rooting for the monster.)

I don’t do comedy-horror.

Do you like the Zombieland movies? My horror fiction probably isn’t for you.

I love comedy films—Airplane, Blazing Saddles, etc. Cheers from the 1980s can still make me laugh.

But horror is serious business. There can be moments of levity amid the darkness. There are many of these in some of Stephen King’s novels. (Cujo and The Stand stand out in this regard.) But when the monsters come out, it’s all business. Monsters are serious.

***

So what kind of horror do I write, then?

My influences are Stephen King, Peter Straub, and the campfire ghost stories of my youth.

I have always been fascinated by urban legends. I am endlessly interested in the dark house at the end of the lane, the one that all the kids say is haunted.

A good horror story should involve characters that you care about. If you don’t care about the characters, then you won’t care if the monster gets them. 

A good horror story should involve redemption. The evil is defeated in the end. Or some crucial lesson is learned. Or the human condition is in some way illuminated.

Redemption is a key element of most of the horror stories that we love best. The salvation of Mina Harker at the end of Dracula. The closing scene of The Stand, in which Frannie Goldsmith and Stu Redman wonder aloud if people ever really learn from their mistakes. The last scene in The Dead Zone, in which the shade of Johnny Smith assures Sarah that nothing is ever really lost, nothing that can’t be found.

Note that redemption doesn’t necessarily mean a happy ending. But there has to have been a point to it all.

***

I like ghosts, monsters, things that go bump in the dark. My sainted grandmother was a direct descendant of immigrants from County Cork, Ireland. And every Irishman (even a diluted, generations-removed Irishman like me) loves a good ghost tale.

Let me give you some examples. Here are a few of my horror novels, to date:

Eleven Miles of Night

A college filmmaker takes a walk down a notoriously haunted road, in order earn a $2,000 fee for documenting the phenomena he sees.

This novel contains ghosts, demonic beings, and a long-dead witch who inhabits a covered bridge. Oh, yeah—and hellhounds!

View Eleven Miles of Night on Amazon

12 Hours of Halloween

On Halloween night, 1980, three adolescent friends go out for “one last Halloween”. But they have been cursed by an entity known as “the ghost boy”. As a result, their familiar neighborhood is transformed into a supernatural landscape filled with vampires, wayward spirits, and trees with minds of their own.

View 12 Hours of Halloween on Amazon.

Revolutionary Ghosts

In the summer of 1976, an Ohio teenager named Steve Wagner discovers that the Headless Horseman has returned to terrorize twentieth-century America. The Horseman has brought other ghosts back with him, including the once beautiful (but now hideous) Marie Trumbull, an executed Loyalist.

View Revolutionary Ghosts on Amazon

I have others; but these are the three you might check out first. They are usually enrolled in Kindle Unlimited, which means you can read them for free if you subscribe to that service.

‘The Stand’ (1994) now available in blu-ray/DVD

It was the late spring of 1994. Bill Clinton was in the White House. Seinfeld was the country’s most popular sitcom. (Friends wouldn’t debut until the autumn of 1994.)

I was living in Wilmington, Ohio. I had a job I liked, and I lived in a cheap apartment with wood panel walls and worn shag carpet from the 1970s. I was 25 years old. Those were good times, all the way around.

For five days, from May 8 to May 12, 1994, ABC aired a miniseries adaptation of Stephen King’s 1978 post-apocalyptic novel, The Stand.

In case you’re not aware, The Stand is one of King’s most popular books. The Stand is a good-versus-evil epic about a supernatural battle between good and evil.

Oh, but before that happens, 99% of the world’s population is wiped out by the Superflu, or ‘Captain Trips’. That was years before COVID, of course. But the end of the world is always a good place to start a story. Right? Continue reading “‘The Stand’ (1994) now available in blu-ray/DVD”

Remembering ‘Red Dawn’

80sThen80s now is one of the few accounts I follow on Twitter, because, well…I’m nostalgic for the 1980s.

Today the account tweeted this post about the movie Red Dawn (1984). In response to the poll, I gave the movie a 9. 

Red Dawn wouldn’t necessarily be a 9 if it were released today, mind you. But you have to evaluate a movie by the filmmaking standards of its era. A lot of movies in the early 1980s were pretty rough, compared to the slick, CGI-enhanced productions of today. And so it is with Red Dawn. Continue reading “Remembering ‘Red Dawn’”

Back-to-school in the time of COVID…and riots

It’s getting to be that time of year again. Most K-12 students will be going back to school in some capacity soon, because that’s mandated by the government. For college students, the situation is a bit more ambiguous.

I haven’t been a full-time student since the first president Bush was in the White House. I began my college days in August 1986. Due to an extended period of work one year, I didn’t get my diploma (a BA in Economics) until June 1991. A long time ago. Almost 30 years.

I don’t have any children, either. But many of my friends do, and many of my relatives are younger. One of my cousins will be an incoming freshman at Xavier University in a few weeks. I know—or know of—countless young people who attend the University of Cincinnati.

One can make the case that even before COVID-19, a university education in America in the third decade of the twenty-first century was already a poor bargain. Tuition has gone through the roof in recent decades. Whatever savings the universities might have realized from the efficiencies of the Internet and advances in digital technology have been squandered—on building sprees and phalanxes of make-work administrators.

Then there’s the curriculum itself: If you’re majoring in anything other than one of the STEM fields, you’re likely to get a heavy dose of leftwing ideology with your coursework. In many English lit departments, Shakespeare is out. But you can choose from a wide array of classes in the Literature of Oppression.

And as if things couldn’t get any worse, COVID-19 makes things well…even worse. At UC, some fall classes will be conducted online, some in-person, and others will be “hybrid”—a mix of both. More than a few young people in my social circle have opted to take the 2020-1 academic year as a “gap year”. I can’t say that I blame them.

***

Nor can I help comparing my own college days to these present ones. When I started college, you still had to type your term papers on an IBM Selectric. Home computers technically existed by this point, but they were beyond the reach of most households, including mine.

You couldn’t register for classes online, because, well…there was no such thing as “online”. Initial course schedules were made each semester by postal mail. If a course was full, you had to stand in line at the registrar’s office with a written request to enter.

College was more primitive, but much cheaper. Full-time tuition at the University of Cincinnati cost less than half—in real terms—what it does for an incoming freshman in 2020.

I wasn’t a complete bootstrapper. I had some financial help from my parents. They paid my base tuition at UC and let me live at home, rent-free. I paid for my textbooks, car expenses, and incidentals.

But college wasn’t that expensive in those days to begin with—particularly for commuter students. The question of how I was going to pay for college was never a major issue. There really wasn’t that much to pay.

Likewise, I had a handful of liberal professors who believed that it was their duty to indoctrinate students in leftwing ideology. They were offset, though, by the conservative and apolitical ones.

Also, “liberals” were different in those days. In 1986, a “leftwing” prof was one who held a generic dislike of President Reagan. A leftwing professor sought more accommodation with the USSR, and more social spending.

The insane Jacobinism that runs rampant on today’s campuses—burning this, tearing down that—was virtually unknown back then. I recall that there were some editorials in the campus newspaper about whether or not the term “freshman” was sexist. Such was student radicalism, 80s style.

Which brings us to the BLM/Antifa riots. One of my friends has a daughter who will be a returning student at the University of Minnesota. The U of M campus is located in Minneapolis, where the rioters are rioting, crime is out of control, and the moonbat politicians and activists are “defunding the police”.

I can’t even imagine going to school in an environment like that. Riots and COVID.

***

I won’t lie to you. I wouldn’t mind being 20 or 30 years younger. What person in their fifties wouldn’t? But I don’t envy the young the world in which they are coming of age. I much prefer the one I was given.

The American civilization of the late Reagan era wasn’t perfect. There were still some politically incorrect jokes. There were no female Navy SEALS. No same-sex marriage. And as for being “transphobic”: most of us were unfamiliar with the very concept of transgenderism from the get-go. I know I was.

Woke? No. The period of the late 1980s wasn’t woke.

That now long-ago time undoubtedly left some people out, and forced others to accommodate themselves to the Great Average. Even I—a straight, white, cisgendered male, sometimes felt constrained by those times.

On the whole, though, it was a far more stable, more optimistic setting.

There was a happy feeling in the air. Who would say that America in 2020 is a happy place?

What we see today is a crisis of the spirit of American civilization. And while (just to be absolutely clear) coronavirus is a very real and communicable disease, it is impossible not to think of it as a symbol of the larger, deeper problems that ail us.

For those of you going back to school later this month, I wish you well. But like I said, I don’t envy you.

-ET

52 years old

Today I turn 52 years old. I am not making a big deal of the day in my real life, because well, when you’re this old, what’s another birthday but a step closer to the grave? (We’ll get to that matter shortly.)

Due to a misspelling on my Ohio driver’s license, I recently had to order a copy of my official birth certificate from the State of Wisconsin. My Certificate of Live Birth lists my parents’ ages as 22. It is difficult for me to imagine either of them as twenty-two today. For that matter, it’s not so easy to imagine myself as twenty-two.

Not that I have much to complain about, mind you. During my teen years, I developed a habit of moderate diet and daily exercise, and I’ve stuck with it. I’m not going to say that I feel like a 19-year-old. I don’t. But I don’t feel much different than I did when I was in my thirties. That’s something.

Of course, I’m also at that age where seemingly healthy men drop dead, out of the blue, from heart attacks. I’ve known several 50-something men who did just that. Once you reach the half-century mark, you really could go at any time.

Fifty is a special milestone in that regard, perhaps. But every birthday much beyond 40 carries with it a realization: You’re on the downhill run now. You’ve reached and surpassed the halfway point. There is more time in the rearview mirror than there is in the windshield.

This means being more deliberate about the choices you make, about how you spend your time. I have a good autobiographical memory. I remember being very young, under the age of 21. I can even remember my years from ten to fifteen with surprisingly clarity.

In those days, I often looked at adulthood as some distant, golden point on the far horizon. Now I wouldn’t mind being 10 again. (But I would want to be 10 in my own times, in my own life. I wouldn’t want to be someone else—and certainly not a random 10-year-old in 2020.)

I realize that it’s vaguely possible that fifty-two years from now, I could be seeing out the last of my days at the age of 104. Frankly, I hope not. As I note elsewhere in this blog, I’m a man of the last century, not this one. I’ll cope with the twenty-first century as I must; but I have no desire to live beyond its midway point.

Every human life has its limit. This is a universal that the atheist and the believer must both come to terms with. Likewise, every person (in my way of thinking, anyway) has their times. Just as I have no desire to be alive one hundred years ago, I have no desire to be alive one hundred years from now.

On this point, I’ve been fairly consistent over the years. I’m a nostalgic, not a futurist. The idea of making it into the record books for my longevity has never been a prospect that much appealed to me. I would rather make the most of a reasonably long—though reasonably limited—span of time.

-ET

What if your coworkers were planning a murder?

If you haven’t read The Eavesdropper, now is your chance to get it on sale for only $0.99!

Frank Joseph has a quiet life, a daughter he loves, and a “typical boring desk job” in the purchasing department of Thomas-Smithfield Electronics.

Until he overhears three of his coworkers planning a murder.

Oh…and one of those coworkers is his boss!

If you like corporate conspiracy thrillers (like those written by Joseph Finder), you’ll love The Eavesdropper.

For four days only (August 2 ~ 5) The Eavesdropper is on sale on Amazon Kindle for just $0.99!

Get it now on Amazon!